


Nothing's Fair

by strangeallure



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Angst, Collection: Purimgifts Day 2, Gen, World War I
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-02-23 08:13:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 639
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23041873
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/strangeallure/pseuds/strangeallure
Summary: The soldier in her arms was barely conscious, the room around them a mess of dust and blasted concrete, a large piece of wall trapping Phryne’s foot.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 16
Collections: Purimgifts 2020





	Nothing's Fair

**Author's Note:**

  * For [etoilecourageuse](https://archiveofourown.org/users/etoilecourageuse/gifts).



„Everything is going to be okay.” Phryne murmured the words over and over again, but the conviction in them was waning. “Just keep your eyes open, and we’ll get through this.”

The soldier in her arms was barely conscious, the room around them a mess of dust and blasted concrete, a large piece of wall trapping Phryne’s foot. He had no visible major wounds, nothing a nurse could treat, even if she’d had access to a first-aid box or any other supplies, so all Phryne could do was implore him to hold on and stay with her. His eyes were open, but she could see the light behind them fading.

No, she couldn’t think about that. Instead, she focused on his breathing, the mostly steady in and out of his chest against hers. He was young – _too young_ –, he was strong, he could survive this.

Phryne wanted to rock him, soothe him that way, but she didn’t dare. Her own pain was immaterial, a demon banging against a door so thick she could ignore the impending destruction, but she didn’t want to risk making worse any of the soldier’s unknowable injuries.

If she could just keep him alive long enough for someone to find them. Just get him to keep his eyes open, keep that glimmer of pain – of _life_ – burning until someone came to save them.

The man seized, every single muscle locking, turning his body into a statue, his face into a mask. Spit spilled from the corner of his mouth and his eyes were too wide and too unseeing.

“No, no, no.” Phryne did rock him then, shook him, desperate and useless.

His whole body started twitching and the spit spilling from his mouth turned frothy red.

And then he was gone.

Slowly, carefully, Phryne laid him down beside herself and delicately closed his eyes with her fingers. She tore off a swath of fabric from her uniform and used it to clean his face and hands as best she could. She stroked dust and debris off of every part of his uniform she could reach, uncaring about the pain shooting through her leg and the whole left side of her body when she bent over.

Eventually, she had to admit that there was nothing else to do, that he looked as clean and tidy as she'd manage to get him under these terrible circumstances.

Unwillingly, she pulled her hand away. Everything was too heavy, like the air around her had turned into concrete, too, was pushing her body against the broken cot that dug into her back. She heaved a sigh that came out a shudder.

She was crying, Phryne realized. She hadn’t noticed.

The fire around them must have ceased a while ago. She couldn’t remember when. Now that he was dead, it no longer mattered. Now that she had proved unable to save him. Now hat she had lost yet another soul in her care.

There were voices, shouting in French and English with a familiar accent.

Phryne felt the truth in her bones: she didn’t want to be saved, didn’t deserve to be saved. 

_No._ Her sense of duty took over. She was a damn good nurse and a damn good pilot. She could still be useful. Her foot was banged up, sure, but once someone with a lever got her out from under this cursed piece of concrete, she’d get herself healed and work-ready faster than anything.

If she could still help this cause, could still help other people like the soldier who had just died in her arms, she owed it to them to pull herself together and be strong.

She quickly dried her face, shook out her shoulders, and straightened the tattered, dirty remains of her once-pristine uniform.

“Phryne Fisher over here,” she called out. “Australian Army Nursing Service.” 


End file.
